


alleviated

by kornevable



Series: unwavering will - roy week 2021 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Ninian!Roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable
Summary: He smells nothing in the air but blood and smoke, filling his nostrils with a nasty scent he needs to get rid of. Blood and smoke—he shouldn’t be able to smell them so distinctly, like he’s drowning in a puddle of ashes and charred meat.A spell hits Roy and enhances his dragon blood. / Day 2 of Roy Week: corruption.
Relationships: Lilina/Roy (Fire Emblem)
Series: unwavering will - roy week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103630
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	alleviated

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely slight Roylili if you squint. This is a bit of an experimental piece, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same!

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Claws marks glare back at him when he scrutinizes the ground, littered with fallen trees and destroyed weapons. He smells nothing in the air but blood and smoke, filling his nostrils with a nasty scent he needs to get rid of. Blood and smoke—he shouldn’t be able to smell them so distinctly, like he’s drowning in a puddle of ashes and charred meat. Yes, this is exactly the smell that is making him recoil from wherever he is. Loud voices are echoing behind him, in the distance, but they feel like they’re screaming something urgent directly into his ear. That’s not natural. He shouldn’t be so aware of his surroundings.

His fingers are itchy, sending shivers up his arms, waiting to release pent-up energy he didn’t realize he had. It’s painful to keep it all inside; his body is both cold and warm, trying to find a balance that feels unattainable within his physical limitations. He will burst if he doesn’t direct that energy somewhere. It’s nothing but wasteland around him, isn’t it?

“Roy, watch out!”

A flash of clarity. Roy—that’s his name.

His face meets the hard soil and suddenly rubble and broken blades are digging into his back and his legs, as he tumbles on several meters until he hits the trunk of one of the fallen trees. He hisses loudly, quickly getting back on his feet even when pain is fogging his mind, and he tries to identify who attacked him. His eyes focus on the silhouettes looming over him, tall and dark and menacing, and like a spell of thunder he’s instantly much more alert, ignoring the blood dripping down his face.

“You’re going to get hurt, get back!”

He doesn’t heed the advice. His hands are shaking with trepidation, and his whole body is asking for a fight. He distantly thinks he has never used his claws before, or his fangs, or his magic, but it all sounds inconsequential when he can simply learn to use them right this instant. The energy within his body flows freely, pulling him in capricious directions, as if he’s only a doll controlled by invisible strings.

The silhouette is slowly filled with colors and shapes, taking the form of a terrifying and monstrous dragon. He’s seen them before—watched them appear before him with fright, despair crawling on his spine. But this was when he didn’t know how to fight back, when all he had was a blunt sword and none of the strength and knowledge. He rises, stands taller and braver, embraces the comforting cold that is slowly enveloping him, and he lunges.

He remembers what happens next in fragments. He has never been the fastest or most robust boy—though he’s developed impeccable footwork and incredible endurance to defend those he holds dear as long as he can, gladly letting other people dealing the final blow. However, at that moment, a single swipe tears a gash into hardy scales and the volume of his roar causes flinching. His enemies are stepping back from him, intimidated and wary, or maybe furious and uncomprehending, but they see him as the most dangerous opponent. It was everything he wasn’t; his legs carried him from one enemy to another, performing a dance of attacks that left him bruised and battered but always bouncing back to eliminate the threat.

There is fire. There are lacerations and one too many shoves that made him stumble. There are people helping and guiding him, though he doesn’t remember their words.

When all was done, his enemies struck down and his adrenaline died down, everything becomes quiet. His frozen fingers and his headache pull him back into the reality of his own aching body, and he collapses—exhausted and, deep within his heart, afraid of opening his eyes again.

* * *

Someone is humming a familiar song. It’s soothing, washing over him like a comforting spell plucked from his dreams. The world around him comes back in layers and splashes of colors.

“Is…”

His throat is scratchy, dry and heavy, as if he spent the last few days screaming. It sends him into a coughing fit and suddenly the humming stops, letting in its stead a stream of worried sentences.

“Oh Roy, easy there. Here’s some water for you.”

The waterskin handed to him is half empty already, and he recognizes it as his own. Sitting up, he takes slow and small sips, holding the waterskin with shaking fingers. It does little to clear the fog of his mind, but at least his voice recovers some usage.

“Lilina,” he says, something akin to shame crawling in his tone.

“You have been unconscious for a few hours,” Lilina tells him softly. “We managed to set up camp without much of a fuss thanks to Merlinus and Marcus. Alan carried you on his horse.”

“I will have to apologize to them…”

Silence falls in the tent. Roy looks at his hands, devoid of injuries and of aches, only slightly trembling because of his own anxiety. He doesn’t feel any pain anywhere on his body, as if he hasn’t been fighting. He’s tired deep in his bones, though, and he’s thinking about all the damage his body could have sustained were he in his current human form.

“You… seem to remember what happened,” Lilina observes.

Her voice isn’t tainted with anger, but with concern. The lump in Roy’s throat thickens.

“I know I have been careless,” Roy replies, shaking his head. “I should have paid attention to my surroundings.”

“Nobody could have predicted that this spell would hit you, and trigger your powers. Don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

Lilina places her hands on his own, squeezing lightly. She’s speaking patiently to him like she’s afraid he will crumble under the weight of his actions.

“I could have hurt anyone,” Roy mumbles.

“But you didn’t. And you were keenly aware of who your enemies were. Everyone in our army knew they shouldn’t approach you in this state.”

Roy chances a glance at Lilina—her face is devoid of judgment, her eyes clear as crystal as she directs her familiar gentle gaze at him. It’s not the first time she shows such kindness after terrible events have occurred; her strength is heavily tied to her kindness, and Roy feels foolish for thinking she’d be upset _with_ him and not by the situation itself. He lets out a low chuckle, tension leaving his shoulders as he chases after the warmth of Lilina’s hands with his own.

“I don’t know what I would do without you by my side,” he whispers.

The grin stretching Lilina’s lips recover some of the teasing quality she always dons on whenever Roy acts particularly awkward.

“Well, you don’t have to think about it. I’m not leaving you.”

“Thank you for everything, Lilina.”

She shakes her head fondly at him—and Roy laughs, feeling much lighter and thinking that this journey, through war and his own growth, wouldn’t have been made possible without his loved ones.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> / come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kornetable)!


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